As humans, we by and large chase a reality where things make sense. A reality where life follows an orderly and linear path. A reality where numbers are whole and fractions don’t exist and where things either are or are not right or wrong. So much of life ends up being the process of finding sense in the seemingly senseless, survival in the face of those things we should not be able to survive, and hope in the moments that are their most hopeless. Life itself is a at every step a grieving process, whether we realize or label it to be grief or not.
For whatever reason I’ve found myself reflecting constantly on my own life and the direction I was certain it was going in contrasting with the reality of living as it has unfolded. I grapple on an almost hourly basis to reconcile myself to the life I’m living and not the life I’d hoped for. I grieve for all of the things I never actually had that I’ve lost. I come back time and time again to a book I once read titled “An Exact Replica of a Figment of my Imagination” – for that is exactly where I find myself stuck – grieving a life I only imagined living, not a life I actually lived. Spoiler alert: I have no answers to how to get unstuck.
The realization that grief is not limited to only the loss of other living beings does however help me to understand the process and sit with it in a bit greater peace than I’d perhaps had before. Why? Because like grieving for a lost loved one there is no one answer that will fit every day or every minute you journey through it. There is not singular one-way path toward letting go of theclear and crisp black and white photos you held in your mind of what your life was ‘supposed’ to look like. Grief is messy, haphazard and unpredictable. It is every shade of grey imaginable but no pure black or white.
It is not a question of can I do it – humans are resilient and can endure so much beyond what we think we are capable of – human history is a testament to that and my life so far has attested to it as well. What I struggle with most, and here is where I think the illness called depression I’ve walked with for so long takes the reigns, is whether I want to take the journey at all through its natural conclusion. Actually no, ,that’s not true, I grapple with knowing that the answer is that I simply don’t. I want out. I’ve seen how this game of life is played and I’m not interested in playing anymore. But don’t fret, because for now I’m here for the simple idea that I alone could cause the shattering of the very foundation of so many people I love who have built my own existence into theirs. As humans we’re graced and cursed with free will and as a person I’m rooted in the knowledge that one of the only good things we have going as a human race is acts of selflessness, compassion and love.
For whatever reason the universe has, I’m having the grieve my way to somehow living without the will to live. Am I unhappy? Not always. Do I find humour and a sense of pride in things I do? Yes. Am I grateful for what I do have in my life? Immensely. But underpinning every move I make in the day is the simple fact that even amongst the grace and beauty of moments around me that I take in, my soul at its very core is hollow. It is an immutable emptiness now constant for over 3 years which shows no signs of departing, abating, or easing in the slightest. I’ve found the one thing that is black and white: I’m certain I don’t want to live but certain I cannot die. To those I adore in my life who know this aspect of me and know I cannot die – it brings them comfort. To me, only pain. I’m learning to live with resenting them for that. I’m learning to grieve for a life that I’m destined to not live for me.
Mental Health Musing - Thoughts from a Thoughful Mind 
Beautifully put 🖤 thank you